“That’s not Ivy.”
“Sure it is. Look – red bloom, bold stance, same rim.”
“No, no. That one’s Speck.”
Florendelle’s rooftops have argued for years.
Only Ivy knows the truth.
And she’s not telling.
She just shows up at every rooftop feast – sometimes tall, sometimes small, sometimes spotless, sometimes spotted.
But always, always ready for the first pour.
And never, not once, has she spilled.